


Smells like Gotham, smells like Home

by L6vy



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L6vy/pseuds/L6vy
Summary: After a long fight, Joker looks exhausted and Bruce makes sure he's fine before he takes him to Arkham. But Joker seems to care about Batman's health just as much.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 137





	Smells like Gotham, smells like Home

Bruce leaned against the wall of the tall building behind them, panting heavily as he sat down. His whole body felt like it was on fire, sweat forming on his skin and his heart racing in his chest. Pain shot through his leg where Joker had managed to slide a knife into the skin, the blood slowly running down the armor.

Joker was sitting next to him. He hadn’t moved after the last hit Bruce had given him, his body connecting with the hard concrete and falling to the ground. Bruce looked over to where he was now propped up against the wall, his breath shallow, eyes staring into the distance and a weak smile on his face. He looked exhausted, Bruce thought. Their fighting seemed to be over for today.

He pressed the button of the signaling device on his belt to call the car and scooted closer. The clown didn’t react in any way, his eyes still glazed over. For a moment, Bruce just watched him, worry rising up in him. Did he hit him too much? Too hard? He knew Joker could take a lot, but he never even tried to hold back during their fights.

Joker’s suit was ruffled and dirty, blood sticking to one of the sleeves where a batarang had hit his arm. His curly hair was just as messy, full of dirt and sticking out at odd places. Bruce focused on his face, his eyes wandering over the smeared make up and the blood that was slowly trailing down his chin.

He reached out, brushing his thumb over the skin in an attempt to clean it from the blood. He only managed to spread it further, the bright red making Joker’s skin look even paler. Joker’s eyes traveled towards him at the contact, finally shaken out of his thoughts. His smile grew into a wide grin, his eyes sparkling even though they still looked tired.

Bruce suppressed the urge to smile back at him, realizing how relieved he felt about Joker’s reaction. It meant he was ok, Bruce didn’t break him. If that was even possible. Still, the clown seemed especially tired today.

“I’ll take you to Arkham,” he said and slowly reached to his belt to pull out the handcuffs. The batmobile came to a hold on the street to his right, the sound of the motor filling the air.

Joker didn’t protest when he put on the handcuffs, still unusually quiet as Bruce leaned over to close them around his wrists. His fingers rested over his hands for just a moment, hovering there before he let go to examine the wound on his upper arm.

It didn’t seem too deep, he found, tearing Joker’s clothes even further to get a better look. It had almost stopped bleeding already, so that was a good sign. The smell of his blood hung heavily in the air, mixing with Joker’s sweat and the stench of Gotham. It was a sensation so familiar he could almost find comfort in it.

“Are we going already?” Joker finally asked, his voice weak from exhaustion.

Their gazes locked as Bruce turned his head towards him. Bright green eyes stared into his, and he felt as if they could see right into his soul. He wasn’t entirely sure what they would find in there.

With a deep intake of breath, Bruce nodded, breaking the eye contact. His eyes traveled over Joker’s body for a moment, looking for any further injuries. Before he could react in any way, Bruce started lifting him up, one arm under his legs, the other holding his back. He wasn’t sure how much Joker could walk on his own. Or that was at least what he told himself.

Standing up turned out to be slightly difficult with the extra weight, a sharp pain in his leg reminding him that he wasn’t actually in the right shape to be doing this. Bruce let out a grunt, coming to a stand and pressing Joker’s body against his ribs.

Joker’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but then he giggled, snuggling closer and resting his face against Bruce’s chest. Bruce ignored the warm feeling spreading through his body and slowly walked the short distance to the batmobile, every step he took with his right leg painful. He let go of Joker, leaning him against the car as he opened the door to the passenger seat.

Joker didn’t need much guidance to get into the seat. Bruce leaned over to secure him, his hands brushing over his shoulder as he reached for the belt and pulled it over his body.

When he was done, he closed the door and moved over to the driver’s seat. He took one last look at Joker, who was resting against the back of the seat, his eyes closed. This time, Bruce didn’t suppress the smile that started forming on his face. Nobody could see it anyways.

He started the engine, and the long drive to Arkham began. He could probably drive the way to the asylum in his sleep. Bruce had lost count of the times he had been there, either as Batman or as Bruce Wayne. It was too often, he thought, images of dark halls and cold corridors in his mind.

It was good that he knew the way so well, as he could feel his concentration decreasing rapidly along with the adrenaline that was leaving his body, now that it wasn’t needed anymore. Bruce tightened his grip on the steering wheel, forcing his eyes to stay open and focus on the street.

“You had a good punch today, Batsy,” a voice to his right suddenly said.

Bruce took a quick glance at Joker, who seemed to be looking at him. He hummed.

You too, he thought, but didn’t say out loud.

“But I would like to say I wasn’t too bad either,” Joker continued, as if he knew what he had been thinking, leaning closer. Even with his eyes on the street, Bruce knew the clown was giving him a wide grin.

“Look at how tired you are. We should do this more often, otherwise you’ll lose all your stamina. And I wouldn’t want to be responsible for that.”

Joker started laughing, the familiar sound echoing through the car. It immediately put Bruce on edge, his senses sharpening, expecting an attack that would never come. Not right now, after their fight, he was sure of that.

He found it slightly easier to focus on the road after that, new energy flooding through his body. Joker kept on talking, rambling about the plan he had used this time, how one of his goons had almost managed to ruin it all before it started. He went on about some seemingly random things, the ice cream he had eaten the night before, a movie he wanted to watch.

Bruce wasn’t sure why the clown kept talking. Maybe it helped him to pass the time, he wondered, thinking about how easily he could get bored. In fact, it wasn’t that unusual for him to speak that much, but somehow, he seemed to be even more talkative than usually. He wondered what had caused the sudden change of his mood when he had been so tired moments before.

Not that Bruce actually minded the talking. It was quite the contrary, he had to admit to himself. Listening to Joker was almost entertaining, his way of telling stories making anything he said sound interesting. And he had the feeling that it gave him a better sense of who Joker was, behind all the parade. Although to what degree his talking was just for show, he couldn’t tell.

With the Joker’s meaningless babbling next to him and the newfound focus, the way to Arkham was shorter than expected. Joker was just the right distraction to keep him awake and the pain in his leg at bay. He almost managed to forget about it entirely.

Still, when Bruce brought the car to a stop next to the entrance of the asylum, he was glad that his night was almost over. The sun would start rising soon, reminding him just how long they had been fighting. He couldn’t wait to fall into bed and get a few hours of sleep.

He stepped out of the car, moving over to the other side to open the door for the Joker. But before he could start lifting Joker up again, intending to carry him to the asylum, Joker spoke up.

“Stop that, sweetie. I don’t think you can carry me around like that today. Believe me, I’m as sad about it as you.”

Bruce stopped in his tracks, staring at the Joker. Did he really say that right now? He hadn’t noticed how observant Joker must have been then. It wasn’t a secret that the clown enjoyed being carried to the asylum after a fight, something Bruce indulged him in more often than he should. Was he really worried enough about him to give up on that?

Joker didn’t look at him, an unreadable expression on his face as he stared forward. Bruce had the strange feeling that he seemed to genuinely care about this, about him. The thought almost scared him. Maybe he did worry more about the clown than he should have, but if he started to believe that the feeling was mutual and Bruce’s health was important to Joker, he could truly be in trouble.

After a moment, Bruce moved away, giving Joker space to get out of the car. As soon as Joker was standing, he closed the door and grabbed his arm. He had to at least pretend he was having him under control. Even if it was just for himself.

In reality, he wasn’t sure if the true reason for holding his arm was for the support it gave him. Walking was more painful than he had expected, he had to learn, the pain in his leg only increasing with every step. He gritted his teeth, continuing to walk to the entrance.

If Joker realized how much Bruce was leaning into him, he didn’t say it. His arm felt steady, strong, and somehow, Bruce just knew Joker wouldn’t take it away. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. Joker looked tired, and he could sense the resentment as his gaze landed on the cold building they were slowly approaching.

When they reached the asylum, the dark building was looming over them, illuminated only by the moon and the weak light of a streetlamp. As soon as Bruce opened the door, Joker’s expression changed, becoming cheerful as he put on a show for the two sleepy guards greeting them in the entrance hall.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, your favorite clown is back! I’m sure you missed me dearly, but your waiting has finally come to an end.”

The guards seemed neither happy nor surprised to see them, one of them calling someone to pick Joker up before slumping back into her chair again.

Joker ignored the lack of response. He lifted his head, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath through his nose.

“Oh, this smell, it almost feels like home.”

Bruce hated the smell of Arkham. It was a weird mixture of disinfectant and cheap perfume, and it failed miserably at concealing the real smell the asylum was wrapped up in, something that he felt would stick to the building forever. He tightened his grip on Joker, not thinking about the two guards approaching them to take him.

Joker turned his head towards him, his eyes burning into Bruce’s.

“Take care of yourself while I’m gone. You better be fully recovered before the next time we meet again,” he said quietly.

His voice sent a shiver down his spine, a small part in Bruce’s mind screaming that yes, the Joker really did care about him. He stared at him, the moment feeling almost surreal. The clown was wearing a serious face, his smile gone as he looked at him sternly. The blood on his chin was still there, and Bruce’s hands itched to touch him again and clean the skin properly.

He wanted to give in to the voice, wanted to believe that Joker’s worry was real, not just something he was imagining. It wasn’t a quick, eye-opening realization. In a way, he had always known, had chosen to ignore it for as long as he could. But he couldn’t deny it now, with the Joker being so open, so unambiguous about it.

He gave him a small nod that felt like a promise. Or maybe he was just acknowledging his defeat in fighting the hope rising up in him. Joker would understand him either way.

He started fishing for the keys of the handcuffs with his free hand and opened them with a practiced movement when the guards arrived. Giving his arm one final squeeze, he let Joker go. The guards took hold of him, one on each side, and started dragging him away. One last time, Joker looked back, giving Bruce a wink before facing forward again.

Bruce silently watched as they led him down the hall into the asylum. Joker’s laughter echoed off the walls, filling his head and vibrating in his body long after it had disappeared behind the thick doors.

Until next time, he thought.

He would be ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)  
> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
